Puppet People

[Wallflower]

In an echo a man hears many things;
Puppets without Puppetmasters chopping at their strings.
we cannot help what is in the awful dark;
We tell ourselves apart by our individual mark.
Sometimes we slip up and make mistakes;
When the Puppet People come to life, we cannot tell our own from the fakes.
I know how they feel, they've been treated unfair;
But they're in it for in for the fun, in it for the scare.
I'd like to ask questions, but I run instead;
I'd rather NOT know, than end up dead.
We get scarrs, only over time;
Others sit back, drinking their wine so fine.
We're nailed dead, one by one;
We're not in it for the fun.
These Puppets, small as can be;
Are still a threat to you and me.
They are not real, not to our eyes;
They live through deception and lies.
They are the face of our emotions, our fears;
Laughing through those painted smiles, bringing US to tears.
Their porcelain skin, the suface of our problems oh, so deep;
I will likelt die before I wake, so i pray to the Puppet People my soul to keep.